breakfast-room. Say to her that I trust she will make the delay short."
Then as the butler turned, the master halted him again. "No," he
amended, "I'll send a note--give me a sheet of paper."

As the embarrassed servant laid a note-card by his plate, he hastily
scribbled:

"Dear Mary, While you are mistress of my house I shall expect you to
appear at the breakfast-table. The rest of the day is yours. This is
final. Mr. Bristoll and I are waiting and my time is not to be valued
lightly. Please do not tax my patience longer."

When Harrow had gone, Burton turned again to Bristoll, and with that
systematic quality which made his brain so versatile he dismissed the
annoyance for another matter.

"I want your opinion on the coffee," he said lightly. "It came from the
Jungus valley in Bolivia. Men who have drunk it there are not satisfied
with any other. In the local market it is costly and as an export it is
unattainable."

"Yet you have obtained it," smiled the secretary. "How?"

Burton laughed. "I wanted it," he announced briefly. "So I got it."

"Mr. Burton," the younger man spoke hesitantly, "you look very fit and
seem absolutely on edge, but I'm afraid you're rather overdoing things.
I don't mean any impertinence of suggestion, but the trout are jumping
in the mountain brooks just now. Can't you drop things for a few days
and climb into a flannel shirt--and rest? You could go somewhere where